The 25th Hunger Games
by Graceaga
Summary: Twenty five years after the rebellion,the first quater quell is anounced.This fic follows the story of Blossom Jones,the female tribute of District Twelve.Will she take the same fate as each District Twelve tribute before herself?Or will she be crowned victor? Permanently paused. I'm stuck for what to write next .
1. Happy hunger games, Blossom Jones

Today is the day that we all dread Today is the day when two completely innocent children will be randomly plucked from each district and shoved into an arena to fight to the death. There will be one winner, one sole survivor. Only, this year is so much worse than any other year. As we have held this torturous event for almost twenty five years- this year is the twenty-fifth - our 'wonderful' leaders in the capitol have chosen to make us suffer just a little bit more. This year we were forced to vote for our 'lucky' tributes. Well, today is reapening day...we find out who they most hated amongst the people.

No, that's not right; of course it's not right. We don't want this; we don't want all the suffering. When the peacekeepers came and demanded names; we all just chose a random name, the first that came into our heads. Elsewhere it is different. In some places, the places that fought more in the rebellion -one, two, four. Places that produce a victor near enough every single year. It's not like that here, no, not in District Twelve. We don't even don't even have a victor, for goodness sake, not even one. In twelve, becoming a tribute is not an opportunity to bring glory or riches back home, it's more like a death sentence you hear your name being called on reapening day...you are pretty much dead. It's not, "I have a chance" or "Who knows, maybe, I can make it" it's "Goodbye, Panem". We have run out of hope. District Twelve is a no hope zone.

Actually, it's pretty likely, this year, that I shall be that poor tribute thinking in a constant loop: I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die! The thing is, I'm an orphan, so I don't have multiple family members who will vote for others so I'm safe, not the poor innocent tribute striding to death. People are more likely to vote for me, too, because if I die, I'll be the only person that suffers voting my name they think; when she dies, nobody will suffer. Like in the capitol, when a tribute dies they don't think of the poor family that have just seen someone close to them slaughtered, they think: Oh, look, just another dead tribute.

I tie my hair back with a silvery ribbon that I guess belonged to my mother, once upon a time. I'm wearing my only dress, a plain blue one and shoes, not hunting boots. A tradition in twelve is you try to look nice, for the reapening, just in case you turn out to be the latest tribute. It will be the last chances people get too see you, aside from the arena, but they twist the personalities so much. You hardly know them. They turn you into a monster.

"Happy hunger games, Blossom Jones,"I mutter to myself as I shut the door and make my way to the town square, where the death sentence will be given. "And may the odds be ever in your favour"

Only, they never were.


	2. Not exactly in my favour

If the odds were in my favour, I wouldn't be here right now. If the odds were in my favour I would be rich and my family still alive. If the odds were in my favour the districts would have won all those years ago. The escort, petal pond, a new one, especially for the quell, Goes on about the odds and how they really aren't in our favour but perhaps we'll still manage a win….yeah, right. We know the odds aren't in our favour, of course they aren't, and the odds are never in the districts' favour. Never.

Once she has finished about the gloomy and depressing history of Panem, she says the words that we all wish could be stopped;

"Let's go ahead and find out who this year's plucky young man and woman will be! "She says, or, rather, shrieks "As always, ladies first!"

She totters in her high heels towards the podium on the left. Normally, a glass bowl containing each possible tributes name on slips of paper. This year, scrolls that look about a thousand years old, but can only be about a month old sit proudly where the bowls should be. She wraps her fingers protectively around the paper. And totters back to her place, centre stage, the whole of Panem is watching.

"And the female who shall represent district twelve in the twenty-fifth hunger games is…." Petal pond pauses for dramatic tension as she slips the pale pink ribbon from the scroll and pulls it open "Blossom Jones!"

I knew it! This is what I've been trying to explain. In the districts' if the odds aren't in your favour they never will be. And if you happen to be particularly unlucky, you never get good luck. Nothing good will ever happen.

A group of six peacekeepers surround me, although it's literally twenty steps to the stage. Do they not see how utterly ridiculous this is? Even if I did try to make a run for it, I couldn't, not with all these peacekeepers around the perimeter of us. When I'm on the stage I hear Petal going on about the 'spirit of the hunger games', spirit? The spirit of murdering children? I'm not sure I'd call it spirit. Up close, petal looks even more ridiculous than I thought she did. Why is her skin blue? Why are her arms covered in decorative swirls? Can she really think she looks pretty? She looks freakish, like she's covered in some sort of wall paper.

"Now we choose our courageous young man! "She calls out to the crowd. Ouch! Her voice is actually painful to hear, up close. I hope they don't all sound like this, in the capitol. She does the whole tottering over to the podium, sweeping up the scroll and returning to centre stage.

"Morgan Jenson!" He steps up to the stage and smiles into the camera, casually throwing a wink into the crowd. We are made to shake hands before turning into the justice building, I make sure the handshake is firm, just to let him know that, although I may seem small and weak, I am strong, a survivor. Competition, not to be overlooked.

I am shoved into a small room….this is the place I say goodbye to those I love. The people who chose my name must think there is nobody that I still love. That's where they are wrong.


	3. Goodbye District Twelve

I'm barely in the room myself, when the first visitor arrives. I have to admit, I don't know this girl; long wispy brown hair, huge grey seam eyes that remind me of a deer, small body frame. She looks scared, though she is the one coming in to see me, not the other way round. And I'm the one to die, not her. I doubt she's even old enough to be reaped.

"Sorry," I confess "I don't know who you are." Then I add, kindly "what's your name?"

"It's Lacey" she says is a quiet, shy voice. No, I still don't know her. Perhaps, she wanted to see Morgan and came here by mistake. It's a no when I ask. Why would she want to see me? I'm certain I've never seen her in my life.

"Why?" The single word slips out of my mouth before I can stop it; drenched in confusion and surprise.

"You saved my brother's life."

Okay, now I'm really confused. Apparently I saved this little girls brother. The confusion must show on my face, as her little face furrows into a frown before muttering a few more words;

"You gave him medicine….."

A picture pieces itself together in my mind; a sick boy leaving the apothecary's. Tears dribbling down his face. I remember thinking that he knew he would die. He was starving, too. I comforted him. Stormed in to get the things he needed. Some might say I saved his life. I'd say I helped out someone while they were in difficulties. That's all.

"Andrew…?" I whisper the word, somehow knowing that this is a tender subject with this little girl. My suspicions are confirmed when tears gather in her eyes and start slipping down her face.

"He's not here anymore" she sniffs, trying to rub the last of the tears from her eyes "I promised him I would thank you for what you did…."

"And today was your last chance….?" I ask. It must be what they all think. Blossom jones is going to die. I am going to die.

"Try and win." She is no longer crying, but she speaks in a numb, dull voice. She must be still grieving. Of course she is. I know what it's like, I understand. "Help all of those others, like Andy." I nod and smile; it's all I can do. What else could I do? Burst out crying and say what will probably happen? No, just nod and smile. You can't go wrong with a simple nod and smile. That's what mother always used to say.

A peacekeeper grabs the frail looking girl by the shoulder and drags her from the room. Out of the room, and out of my life. Funny, it seems as if she was in it for more than the meagre three minutes she was aloud.

A second figure enters.

This one is a man. Young, though, probably about nineteen or twenty. Someone who has only just started working in the mines is my guess. The mines, the mines I have never set foot in because my parents and older brother perished there. This one looks like my brother, actually, and just that thought makes it seem like tears are going to start falling.

"I don't care who you are or what you want, but if you come out with some sob story, I swear I'll throttle you, right here, right now." There's no way I'd throttle him…..but as he looks so like my brother tears are threatening to fall just by sitting in front of him.

He clears his throat. "Maxwell Jenkins" he introduces himself as. I don't say anything, so he just continues "I came to tell you, we all think you can do it. We all think you can win. That's why you got so many votes."

I casually shrug my shoulders; like I don't care in the slightest that the whole district is counting on me to do the previously impossible.

"Right," I say.

Then, out he walks, although there is still a large amount of time left. Oh, well, I don't care. It was eerie, like talking to the ghost of my brother. Maxwell and my brother are oddly alike; same stance, same moody look. My brother would have probably said something similar, too. Made me believe the whole district is rooting to to make me think I could win. John was like that.

The couple that next walk through, I do know. Maggie and Peter Browne. When the tragedy happened, they were close to us. Me, my parents, my brother, the whole family. I was only ten. They decided to take me in with open arms, look after me. If they hadn't, I would have ended up in the community home. For that, I shall be always grateful.

Before I can say a single word I am dragged into a three way hug.

"This is bad luck, pet," peter tells me. It's more than a bit of bad luck. "I'm sure you can pull through. Perhaps this will change your luck." He brings out an object. An object I never thought I'd see again. It's a pin, made from gold and shaped like a clock face, only it has angel wings sprouting from the sides. But it's not just a pin. This pin belonged to my mother. I was sure she wore it on the day she died, as she almost always wore it for luck. Maybe I was wrong.

"You two….you've been like parents to me" I burst out.

Maggie opens her mouth; I'm expecting a story or advice. No, she sings. It's the song that was a lullaby to me when I was a young child.

By the time she reaches the last stanza I don't stupidly believe that I shall win, but I am slightly soothed just like I was when that song was my lullaby. But I realize, there is still a small chance, just a tiny one, that I could return back home to the few leaft that I still love.

When the peacekeeper comes to bustle them out I feel as if I have said it all but also so much I should have said and done. So I'm stuck with "I love you" I shout it over and over. They say it back. And I know its true.

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**The song fetured is Maggie sings is meant to be 'Safe and sound' by Taylor swift.**

**Oh, and if anyone is feeling evil/gamemakerly and has any ideas that I could use for the arena(Mutts, twists ect...) please PM me with them(so it is kept secret for the readers)**


	4. Next stop, The capitol

**A/N Okay, this chapter will be pretty short as nothing much can really happen on the train and I want to get to the capitol part as quickly as possible. Any reviews would be fantastic.**

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Nobody else comes to see me, and Morgan can't have had many more visitors as Petal Pond is dragging us to the train station after less than a minute. She keeps complaining about how ridiculous she looked amongst us in our drab District Twelve clothes. Well, it's her own fault.

We are greeted by a thousand flashing lights. Cameras. Paparazzi. All desperate to get the first glimpse of the latest tributes of District Twelve. As we pass we hear our names being called and questions being yelled out. I make myself smile at these ridiculous people and wave my hand; Morgan seems to be doing the same sort of thing. I only do what the capitol want so I stand a chance in returning home. I could glair and glower, uttering obscenities under my breath. But, no. I will do as much as I can to get far in these games. Once Petal Pond is satisfied they have enough shots she welcomes us into the tribute train. And we're off. It's pretty probable that we will never make the return trip.

And…wow! I have to admit, this place is beautiful .The carriage itself is wondrous but Morgan and I don't care about the walls or furniture because we are staring at the food table. Oh my goodness, I don't even know how to describe capitol food is so different from the sludge coloured stuff we eat at home. Colourful, vibrant when we are told we can dig in, I don't hesitate, I just grab a handful of the first thing I can get. It tastes even better than it looks. There is no starving in the capitol, for the second we finish the whole lot and completely stuffed with food, they only go and bring out a second course. When we turn it down they just chuck it away.

This disgusts me.

Starving district people work so hard to get all this food and they just chuck out mountains of it. And if they aren't eating they are watching us being slaughtered. Still, I could get used to a lifestyle like this. Food, money, everything I need just a button push away.

"Blossom!" Morgan calls. It takes a moment for me to realize he is talking to me; I was so wrapped up in my hatred of the capitol and thinking of the food that I completely zoned out.

"I said," He mutters, "What do you think of petal?"

Well, that's a stupid question.

"What do you think?" I say rudely, once I'm sure she is definitely out of earshot "Her people think of our probable deaths as a festivity, and so does she, or else she would be elsewhere. I'll let you work the rest out."

He nods, for a moment, looking like he is about to say something. The moment passes as Petal steps back into the carriage. It must have been against her, I suppose. Or against the capitol. If not, he would have told me.

"You are going to love the capitol!" she shrieks at us "The fashion is fabulous, the food is glorious and the people are the most fantastic in the whole of Panem. Nothing like that dreary place you live in." If she doesn't start making sense any second it's possible I'll break down into tears, burst out laughing or attack her. I'm going to love the place that wants me dead for crimes supposedly committed twenty-five years ago? The people who find us being slaughtered as a fantastic, dramatic, amazing festive sport are fantastic? If Petal looks anything like capitol mainstream fashion then that has to be incorrect. The food….? Okay, maybe she is right there.


	5. Welcome to the capitol

To take my mind of the excruciating pain of having every last hair torn from my body I remember the reapenings, the ones I watched on the tribute train. I let the twenty three other tributes faces run through my brain. The strong, the weak, the ones like me who are a little of both. Not the extreme strong that everyone will be looking out for and betting on but not those labelled easy kills that nobody in the capitol will bet for and are most likely to go on the first day. At least, I hope that's what the other tributes think of me. Please don't let them label me as a weakling. Although I guess that would be natural, me being from the poorest of all twelve districts.

The boy from one won't be worrying about what us others think of him. He sent a clear enough message at his reapening. He lunged forward to volunteer, and then said to a load of cheering that he would be the next victor. The picture I see is of that arrogant smile he sent into the cameras. Was that an act to get more sponsors or does he think he can really win? He looks like he could make it but must know the games are more than just a competition on looks and power. Odds can mean nothing. The girl from one looks pretty powerful too. Powerful and Pretty. Those two won't find it hard to grab sponsors. The boy from two had a malicious smile and huge bulging muscles. It's not hard to tell he is a powerful killer. He'll be popular in the capitol too. He must have trained his whole life for this. His whole childhood ruined for a death match. His partner must have trained pretty hard too. Although slightly smaller you can just tell she's been trained. Something about the way her muscles look or that evil glint in her emerald green eyes. She could kill me in so many ways. So could he. All of them, from one, two and four. Yes, four look pretty powerful too. Both volunteered with confident strides to the stage and evil looks on their faces. It makes me feel giddy to know in less than a week I shall be trapped in an arena with these six powerful seeming adversaries.

They'll be others too, of course. The brainy duo from three. They look as if they could be siblings both with scruffy dark hair and squinting eyes; the boys under glasses the girls without. Yes, they look smart but they are also young and small and scared. Neither can be over the age of fourteen, or that is how they look, at least. Five seem pretty smart too. Again, they are small; I hate to think it, but weak. Still, the smartness of both sets could be useful in the arena. Perhaps we could join up? Become allies? I know I could trust them, just from the reapenings. Just as I can tell the tributes from one, two and four are killers, I can tell the sets from three and five are trustable. Six are both older than expected. Both either seventeen or eighteen but in comparison to the trained tributes they are underfed and weak. We all are, if you think about you think deeper all of us, even those that are trained, we are all only children. Children forced to kill. Seven are different from all of the other outer districts. They have not been properly trained but they look as if they could be. District Seven, lumber. The pair can't be much older than me but training for work must work out differently there. They must have started work as the pain in their eyes and bodies speaks in great volume. I guess both have been chopping trees for a long while, working hard while the capitol watches children killing. For fun. Again, they could be allies, District Seven. Eight must start work early too. Quite a few tributes from there are crippled or hurt from working the textile factory machinery, I guess. The girl is, this year. I don't think she'll get away from the bloodbath at the cornucopia. She could barely walk to the stage at her reapening. Nine, ten and eleven are like us. No extreme physical power but not weaklings. That's how we look. No extreme power. No extreme chance of victory. But they all have at least one victor to help them out. That's one thing district twelve don't have.

Okay, it's over. The prep team, my prep team have plucked me of all my body hair and forced me to soak in three different revolting baths. Now they have exit the room with shrieks of "Demetria, we must find Demetria" echoing behind them. It's the closest I've had to peace and quiet since I was reaped.

"Blossom? Blossom Jones? District Twelve tribute?" And it's over. Thankfully, this voice is not as affected as all those I have heard in the capitol before.

"Yes." is my short reply.

"My name is Demetria; I shall be your stylist for the week." She announces "And," this is in more excitable tones "I have such an amazing and original idea for the opening ceremonies!" After the second sentence I have an extreme dislike for this woman who is completely coated in a pale lilac colour. What is it with the capitol and extreme arrogance? And extremely weird fashion, we cannot forget that.

Something I forgot to mention is, the capitol have almost no interest for us until we are made up by some famous capitol stylist. Yes, there were a few photographers and a couple of journalists at the station but that is nothing in comparison to the huge crowds that gather to watch the opening ceremonies. Hundreds, thousands, millions. Plus, the whole country is forced to watch on live television, just as the games are.

I wonder what Maggie and Peter will think when they see the opening ceremonies later. Will they still have a little hope…..will they give up on me? And what will Lacey think? Will she be afraid that the people circling will be trying to kill me in less than a week…that I will be trying to kill them. And the miners like Maxwell will they still think that I can stand a chance? Or will they believe they have just sent a poor little girl into the hunger games? It's all up to the impression that I give tonight. And the outfit I wear, that matters less to the districts than the capitol but it still matters. Hope or no hope? A small chance or no chance? Life or death? These opening ceremonies decide everything in my future…no matter how short it is to be.

I must look so hopeful at that garment bag, to Demetria this is just hoping for a good outfit. To me, its possibly life or death. I find myself holding my breath as she swishes the fabric apart to reveal….an outfit almost identical to that of last year's tributes. The breath leaves my lungs in a disappointed state. It's not bad but it's not extremely fantastic. Like us tributes, really, not extremely powerful but not extremely weak. My outfit for the tribute parade is a simple red jumpsuit with glitter crawling up the sides, knee high miner-type boots and a light bulb on a headband that is wrapped around my head. But, really, I shouldn't have expected much better. I mean, our outfits have to be coal related, how can something coal related be stylish? It's almost impossible.

In a matter of minutes, I'm zipped up into the suit and waiting to go down to the parade. Here goes nothing.

I meet up with Morgan at our chariot. He is wearing an outfit identical to mine. His makeup is the same too; pale powder covering the skin, glitter in the hair and bright red nails. He is even more annoyed with our stylists than I am. Thankfully, District Twelve don't get much camera time, always seem to home in on the trained tributes and sometimes other poorer districts that have strangely good outfits. Somehow, I don't think that is us. Still, the capitol is well known for its ridiculous fashion sense so perhaps they'll find some love for our stupid outfits. Perhaps not. Probably not.

"We look absolutely ridiculous." Morgan says as we clamber up onto our chariot.

"So do the capitol," I point out, trying to convince myself as much as him "Perhaps they'll love this….thing."

District One, luxury items, are first. You can tell the capitol will be impressed by them. The girl looks gorgeous in a dress made out of rows and rows of precious jewels. The boy is in a suit of a similar style. The stylist for District One has an easy job. How hard can it be to make someone in luxury items look fantastic? Compare it to coal and you get the picture. Compare our outfits to some of the other districts and we look pretty good. District Seven are in wooden suits, and they are normally dressed as trees. Six are in costumes made to look like train tracks. So we are not the worst. But we are not the best, not by a long run. District Four are wearing wonderful mystical costumes to represent mermaid and merman. District two are in somehow stylish suits of armour. Again, the trained districts are better off. They always are; they are fed better, get to go first in everything during the games and, of course are much more powerful.

Then it's our turn. All of the other eleven tribute chariots are in circulation so it would be understandable if they ignored us. Why watch a couple of kids in odd looking coal miner costumes when you could pay attention to fighters dressed as mermaids and knights? Some of the crowd are cheering for us; I know that even in my confused mind. I'd rather not concentrate on the freakish looking capitol crowds, not while I could fall off this chariot any second. And why not admit it? These people scare me.

They scream from all sides, spinning in a mad circle around my head. They are there while I shut my eyes but are brighter and bolder while my eyes are open. I want to yell out but know even in my befuddled mind that I can't. A hand reaches out in the confusion, Morgan! I hold it tightly to stop me from going mad. But….he can't be really helping me, we are enemies. Aren't we? Even allies don't last in this thing. Are we allies? What's going on? Even so, I don't try to wrench my hand free. The faces still swirl but not as madly. Somehow, just this link of hands keeps me safe. Safe and sound, like my old lullaby. The words of that tune wash over me; the rest of the chariot ride passes without me living it.

"Oh my goodness, Blossom! Are you okay?" I was, before I saw her face. I thought we'd lost our annoying escort Petal Pond at the train station. Looks like she's here to stay. Fantastic.

"I'm fine." I mutter.

"Are you sure?" Petal squeaks out "It looks like you almost fell of the chariot, you would have if Morgan didn't grab your hand!"

So one of those I shall be fighting to the death in a few days has just saved my life. Brilliant. How can I kill someone that has saved my life? I can't, not me. It's an impossibility. I guess one of those trained tributes would find no trouble in this. I've seen ally kill ally before. A girl kill her district partner, a boy kill someone I thought he was close to, we all did. The most despicable case when a boy from two slaughtered his own little sister in her sleep and then went on to win. Became victor like nothing happened. What do these games do to people? Can it be a good thing that twelve has no victor? Can death be a good thing? A blessing? Or is it awful, like I've always thought? I know what it's like to be the other person, the person who lost a loved one. That's the only reason I'll try to win. Maggie, Peter, Lacey. If I had nobody I would chance it…death. No matter if it's a curse or blessing.

"She is such a drama queen!" Morgan muttered to me as Petal lead us towards our rooms "No way did I save your life! I just grabbed your hand in fear, you know."

"I know." I get out "Freakish or what?"

Then we stop have arrived at our home. Just like the train it is beautiful. Just like the train there is so much food. We are no longer the starving people of the seam we were on the train but this food is better. It's a shame we won't be living with the luxury of this food for long. Most of us. One of us will become victor and live with this for the rest of our life. Now I'm wondering if becoming victor is that brilliant. Living a life with blood-stained hands. Living a life that any one of these people deserves. They must all have friends and families that want them to win as much as mine do. There is only one winner. Only one person that will get out of this alive. It's the game of one life and twenty-three coffins. One life. Twenty-three coffins. One alive. Twenty –three dead. And it's almost certain one of those twenty three funerals will be mine. I've got a one way ticket to death. I'm going to have to fight for that ticket back home. It won't be an easy journey but I will never give up.


	6. Mentor meeting

I'm in my bedroom now, stuffed with gorgeous food and relaxing, a hum of soft music slips out of the speakers behind me. Bliss. It's not capitol music, it sounds like home. The strumming of a guitar and quiet vocals. The capitol seems to like loud music with shouty vocals bursting out of their earphones as they bustle about the place. This is relaxing and if I close my eyes tight enough I can picture myself at home. I can almost feel the warm flicker of fire warming me and mothers arms wrapped around me. The ghosts of my family are around me giving hope and comfort. I could be happy if the hunger games were never going to happen.

"Blossom!"

Honestly! It's the sixth time in half an hour! Each time she has asked me if I want to watch some ridiculous capitol show I've never heard of or something else of equal unimportance. All I want to do is relax and think before they throw me into the arena.

"Go away!" I yell, not even bothering to open my eyes.

"Blossom! This is important." She calls.

I highly doubt it. And if she doesn't stop bothering me she will excel all previous records and become the first death in the games - before we even enter the training room.

"Your mentor is here, she wants to see you!" The annoying voice pipes up from my doorway.

My eyes snap open. Mentor! The person who snaps up all our sponsor deals and helps us before and in the arena. That is important.

"I'll be there in five minutes."

Since we don't have a victor every single year we get a so called 'expert' from the capitol. Normally a trainer. Sure this person will have knowledge and talents in combat and survival skills. They'll have probably watched the games for at least a lifetime, too. But it's not the same, is it? Victors have put these skills into use and survived first a district lifestyle and then the hunger games. Trainers have watched them suffer and survive through it all.

When I slip into the sitting room Morgan and our mentor are sat together talking quietly. Secret tactics they don't want me to know, I suppose? I watch them for a moment, wondering if she can really help us. She looks like most other capitol citizens, with rainbow coloured hair standing on end and a faint pinkish glow to her skin.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" I call from the doorway. They spring apart like they've been kissing or something. Have I been totally invisible for the past few minutes?

"Oh, not at all dear, we were just waiting for you." She says as I plonk down on the sofa across from them. Yeah, right. "My name is Lapida. I specialize in sword training. I'm to be your mentor." She holds out a pink hand for me to shake which I ignore. She's looking down her nose at me, I just know it. Well, she was happy enough snuggled up next to Morgan and we come from practically the same street, so what is her problem with me? Morgan looks guiltily towards me. Perhaps he's made some kind of deal with her. Stealing all the sponsors for himself so I'm unprotected and vulnerable, maybe? And I wondered if we were friends or enemies!

She clears her throat and then enquires "So, do either of you have any particular talents? Combat or survival? Anything of use in the arena."

"You first." I say quickly, nodding to Morgan. She's bound to be snobbish or disbelieving to whatever I say so I'd better think of something extra brilliant that I can actually do. Oh, and legal, it has to be legal. She's from the capitol so therefore cannot be trusted.

"Healing," He says without hesitation. I'm a little surprised, its normally merchants that learn such things, not people of the seam. "And knife work." Knife work? There is no way he learned that legally. Sure we sometimes have wrestling competitions and suchlike sometimes but there are pages of laws that prevent people from using weaponry.

Then again, he could have just made it up.

Lapida drinks it up, though. Practically cheering because she has a pretty good tribute. Apparently unaware that by using knifes he has Brocken at least twenty laws. Once she is finished with all the praise for Morgan's brilliance, it's my turn.

"I know a little of plants and herbs." I suppose I can say that since I worked for a while on a herb stall at the market. And our family used to scavenge in the meadow for food on particularly bad days. We never dared to sneak under the fence although it would be easy enough, since it's not even electrified half the time. The Everdeens, a family who live down my street, do and a few close friends. But they have weapons and a deal with the peacekeepers. I'm not one of them. Maybe Morgan is. That's a good place as any to learn how to use weapons.

"Anything else?" That snobbish capitol woman is clearly unimpressed.

"Yeah," I say "I'm really good at spying on people." I send a pointed look at Morgan, who raises his eyebrows in question - he only gets a malicious grin in return. She misses this entire exchange. How can she call herself an expert?

"Well, that doesn't really count as a proper skill, does it?" she tells me giving me a look that says 'You'll never make it' or 'you'll be an early kill' or 'I wish I only had to train tributes that stand at least a small chance'. She hates me; she thinks I will die first. I storm out of the room right then and there.

This whole thing was pointless. How am I supposed to trust and take advice from somebody that doesn't even have an ounce of respect for me in return? She is worse than Petal Pond. The homely music starts up again but this time it gives me no comfort or hope, this time, it's sad. How much chance do I really have? How can I expect to get home? I give up on not letting the tears fall; I give up on trying to appear strong and I flop over onto my bed, howling into my pillow. This is why District Twelve has no hope.

I don't know how long I've been crying when I hear a tapping on the door.

"Go away!" I shout in almost my normal voice. I'm all cried out; there are no more tears to fall.

"No chance!" is the reply I am given.

The door swings open, Morgan is standing there. And then he's sat next to me, his arms wrapped protectively around me. His lips on mine.


	7. Love and fear

My instincts tell me to push him away. They tell me to yell. They tell me to ask him what the hell he thinks he is doing. I ignore them. I kiss him back a little. This is just odd; I am not the type of girl that always has a boyfriend. I am the type that watches as the- girl- that –did- have- a –boyfriend's whole world comes crashing down when they split up, wondering what all the fuss is about . It's him who finally breaks the kiss but still we stay curled up together. Is what I feel right now love? Niggling at the back of my mind is the simple fact; we can't both get out alive.

When I awake in the morning we are still curled up together.

I don't know why but even looking at Morgan brings embarrassment. He quickly excuses himself before exiting the room. It's a long while before I make myself move. When I do its only to take the garment bag from the avox sent in with it. I wonder what crime she committed to end up as a slave with no tongue.

Thankfully, Demetria has decided that I will not be training in some hideous capitalized costume. I'm pretty pleased with what I am wearing, actually. Simple black trousers with a bright red t-shirt and black jumper, brown hunter-style boots worn over simple woollen socks. Not different to what I might wear on a regular day at home. Pinned to the jumpers shoulder an actual piece of home. Mothers pin. I could burst into tears after seeing that. But I don't. The evidence of last night's tears were easy enough to wash down the sink, if I start brawling again it won't be so easy. And nobody wants to turn up to a first day of training with a tearstained face. Nobody.

I don't bother with breakfast; I'm not in the mood for a plate of food. It would just be a meal of Lapida shouting training instructions at Morgan and completely ignoring me while Petal gabbles a load of nonsense, anyway. I just use the mouthpiece by my bed to order a couple of slices of bread, knowing inside that I should be storing food for the arena not eating the bare minimum. I start up the song again, this time its hopeful. All I can think about is the comfort Morgan gave me last night. He gave me such a feel of home, warmth and safety.

Morgan swings by my room a minute before ten to tell me that we have to go down to the training centre. He also tells me on the afternoon of the third days training we will have a private session to impress the gamemakers. Since we made virtually no impression at the opening ceremonies it is vital that we make a good one over the next few days.

The ride down to the basement where the training centre is located is awkwardly quiet. Lapida spent the whole short journey with a sour expression on her face. It's probably directed at me but since she never bothers to pay any attention to me, I just ignore her. Without looking I can just tell she is furious. Fuming, even.

We join the other tributes in a large semi-circle as somebody pins a large piece of cloth baring the number 12. Lapida and all but one of the trainers are at their particular stations. The one who isn't introduces himself as Valerimius, the head trainer. He also points out the totally obvious and explains that most of us will die in the next few weeks. The point of this, I suppose, is to make us think before just rushing over to the deadly looking weapons and ignoring the survival skills stations. That's exactly what the trained tributes do. Rush over to the combat stations. Intimidate the field of tributes is probably the plan. Well, it's working. Most of us other tributes look startled and wander about aimlessly before choosing a station. Most end up at survival but those who do venture into the trained tributes territory of combat, steer well clear of them.

I go straight over to the climbing station as nobody else is. There are a few trees that are obviously fake and a large climbing wall set over with a bunch of fist sized rocks. The ground is padded over with a bouncy mat presumably if people fall they'll have a soft landing. Still, the trainer helps me into a safety harness and helmet before allowing me to climb. I won't get this in the arena.

"Have you ever climbed anything like this before?" the trainer asks just as I'm about to start climbing up the wall structure.

I shake my head, wordlessly.

"Okay, so, keep calm, keep looking ahead, and take your time" He instructs me "Okay?"

"Okay," I say back.

I place my feet on the first to rocks and pull myself onto the wall. I reach out for a rock right above my head and use it to pull myself up. As I climb up, it gets simpler and simpler. And on the way back down it's almost like the route is branded into my brain.

"How was that?" I ask the trainer.

"Pretty good," He says, before adding, "For a first try."

I try several more times, both on the rock-wall and the fake trees.

"You'll find it'll get much simpler as you go on," the trainer tells me "Practise makes perfect."

Yes it does. That's why I should practise something else since I know almost nothing. I walk away from the climbing station to find another.

After circling the centre for a moment I end up at Celestial navigation with the two tributes from District Three. They shrink away at first, realizing that, although I am not huge like the trained tributes, I am almost double their size. I pick up an easy-looking manual. When my forehead wrinkles up in confusion they slip over to point out how it all works. I still don't get it. How am I supposed to use the sun, stars and sky to navigate when the gamemakers can use all this technology they have to alter anything they like?

"How do you know all that stuff?" I ask, bemused at how two young kids can understand all this.

"We learn a lot of science and technology at our schools." Lunar, the girl, answers. "My grandfather also used to work as an astrologer." I don't quite understand what an astrologer is but I nod anyway, not wanting them to think of me as a total idiot. I think they both notice it anyway, both lunar and her tribute partner, Hydro.

After bidding them goodbye I slip over to the healing station. Nobody else is here so I can try out all of the different techniques. Treating snakebites with particular plants. Ways of making burns less painful. Bringing people back to life by pumping the chest (though how I'd need to use that I don't know).Dealing with infected wounds. Toning down poison marks. I seem to have some kind of talent in this department, that's good. I'm going to have to rely on my natural instincts and the wilderness, Lapida won't send me anything in the arena. That's guaranteed.

Why did I not get Cannenta as my mentor? She is kindly, and although her hair is bright blue she looks somehow unlike the rest of the capitol. She acts unlike the capitol. Or those I've met, at least. She is not silly and squeaky like Petal Pond and all the other escorts I have encountered either on television or in the square. She is unlike my stylist and prep team who are arrogant and only care about looks. She is the complete opposite of Lapida. Cannenta is sweet where Lapida is sour, kind where the latter is cruel, understanding where the other is irritable. Maybe Cannenta would be just as bad if she had to work as a mentor. Perhaps Lapida is a fantastic trainer but is just total rubbish at mentoring, though I highly doubt it.

So I wander over to the sward training station where Lapida is standing, it looks like the trained tributes just stole half her weapons and went to train alone. Knowing what Lapida is like, I don't blame them.

I pick up a blade-it weighs a tonne. How do people fight with these things?

"On Guard!" I say, though I'm not really sure what it means. I point the end of my sward to Lapida heart. She just rolls her eyes and ignores me. Oh, well. I don't know if I'm doing anything right, I'm probably not, but at least I have a feel of one of the more common weapons. I use the weapon to stab and shred a few of the training dummies. Only stopping when a bell indicates it is time for lunch.

After lunch, its back to training. For some reason, I don't think sward training is going to help me much. So I choose the axe as the next weapon to try. The District Seven girl is here. She has spent most of today here, actually. I noticed she slipped away to fire building and edible plants but those were both very brief sessions. Mostly axes, axes, axes. Throwing them, chopping with them. She has some talent. They must start work at toddling age for her to be this good. The axe trainer is much better than Lapida. He shows me the right way and places to hold the axe and the right techniques, too. I won't say I've mastered it but I am much more confident in the fighting part of this thing. If I could just get an axe at the cornucopia…

One more hour to kill, before they shut us out of the training centre. I've spent plenty of time on axe training and there's not really enough to start on another weapon skill. I scan the line of survival skills stations before finding Morgan at a very Smokey fire building station.

"Hey Morgan." I say

"Hi Blossom" He says, looking up, out of the smoke.

The trainer extinguishes the flame before setting him a new task with a piece of slate. I quickly build up a fire out of twigs and leafs. We mainly use fires and candle light in twelve because apart from the hunger games time of year we have virtually no electricity. So yes, we can both make pretty good fires. Lighting them is the difficult part. But at home we can mostly depend on matches or a lighter. This is a vital skill for the arena. How else do you cook food? How else do you keep warm? Yes, a fire does tell everyone where you are but it is a useful thing to be able to do. In the mists of the evening there will be no sunlight, so I won't be able to use the time consuming jam jar method I have used once or twice before. Besides, I don't want to spend that amount of time in one place in the arena. So it's scraping sticks together to make a fire for me.

I do manage to make a fire but it's not very good, it wouldn't give much warmth and couldn't be used to cook much. I hope I can grab a set of matches in the arena. If not, I'm in trouble. The trainer grabs hold of the sticks and shows me a different technique. Soon she has a large fire ablaze. I take the twigs back and build a slightly better fire. Perhaps I can cope.

As the clock strikes, each and every trainer motions us towards the lifts. In literally seconds Morgan and I are in the sitting room, discussing our day. Morgan spent a good deal of time at the edible plant station and learning how to use a spear, he also took several of the obstacle course challenges. Our conversation is interrupted by a flushed Lapida.

"Do you want to know what the other trainers thought of your skills?" she says

"Alright," is Morgan's casual reply.

"Useless!" she exclaims, turning to Morgan. It's so unlike the last time I recall them talking. When she starts on me I completely tune her out. It'll just make me angry and anger gets us nowhere. After exaggerating our weakest points and forgetting our strong ones exist she storms out of the room.

"What have you done in the last twenty-four hours to upset her?" I ask "About this time yesterday she loved you."

"You know what I've done." Morgan says with a smile.

Yes I do. I start smiling back, trying to hide the blush that is reddening my cheeks.


	8. A picnic on the roof

**A/N Okay, so I know this chapter is pretty short. The next will be longer, I promise. I know people hate it when writers ask for reviews but I genuinly just want to know what people think. Even if its if its to say blossom is a mary~sue.**

* * *

_They surround me, the fire of the torches highlighting the glee on their faces. The boy from two lifts one muscular arm to throw his spear. The two from four grab tridents that will find a home in my flesh pretty soon. The girl from one reveals a sward coated in the thick red blood of past victims. They are a pack of wolfs, I am a frightened rabbit. I stand no chance. A certain kill. But I have one more act of defence. I run._

_I sprint through the forest, but they are on my trail. Only a few paces behind. I sprint on, quicker and quicker as the forest around me begins to blaze, trees begin to topple towards me and the footfalls get louder. The gamemakers don't want me alive. Then I'm at the stream, the most beautiful place imaginable. I let out a sigh before something sharp and metallic strikes my back._

_Forgotten forever._

I awake from my horrific slumber gasping for breath. Shivering and sweating at the same time, my legs tangled in a nest of blankets and pillows. My heart thumping against my ribcage. It was a dream, it was only a dream. It takes a long time to convince myself. And then I realize, in a few weeks' time that could be reality. That will be reality. That will be my reality. My life. My ending.

Once I have regained the ability to breathe, I drag my knees up to my chest and hug them tight. My eyes are closed, but the darkness is better than the nightmare. I rock myself from side to side and murmur Maggie's song. It's not the same. It will never be again.

I tug on a thick jumper and slide my frozen feet into some slippers. That's when I see Morgan. Just standing in the doorway, not quite knowing what to do. Perhaps he has been there since I woke. He must think I'm mad. Then again, most people do. And if they don't now, they will once they see me in the arena. The sadistic and twisted version of me the gamemakers are sure to present, anyway. Morgan doesn't ask if I'm okay, he just holds out a hand. I don't think, I just grab onto it and let him lead the way.

He takes me to the end of the corridor and opens a door I don't think I even noticed before. Inside are a set of stairs, we climb them still hand in hand. When we arrive at the top the sun is rising. I've always loved the sunrise, if I ever awake in early morning back home I don't slip back into slumber until I have seen the sun. We are on the training centre roof. There is a whole garden up here but most of the plants are flowers, the single tree has just started to blossom.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I had almost forgotten Morgan was here; our hands broke apart once we arrived.

"Yes," I say "I never knew something so evil could hold so much beauty."

He takes me towards the tree, sending a shower of pink rain spinning around us. That's when I notice the red and white blanket and picnic basket.

"I found this place by mistake yesterday," he tells me "I knew it would be the perfect place for you to come." He's right. This place is so peaceful. So tranquil. So free of fear. So safe. So unlike the capitol in almost every way. I love it. I love this place.

Morgan then brings out the food. He somehow managed to smuggle out many capitol delicacies. A plate of fried food; egg bacon, bread. A whole loaf of bread. A bowl of sliced fruit. He even managed cups of hot chocolate with melted marshmallows on top. We sit there until the sun is fully up. Just eating and talking.

Morgan shows me his token. A brown book with a leather cover. At first I think it's some kind of religious book. It turns out his token is a diary.

"It was my brothers," he admits "He kept it every single day until he was reaped."

"This is mine." I show him mothers pin, wondering why Maggie waited so long before giving it to me. "It was my mothers."

He nods. I nod back. We both understand. We have both lost someone we dearly loved. Then we stand, clambering down the steps. We go our separate ways without even a word of goodbye. But I understand Morgan now. And, maybe, I understand myself a little better too.


	9. Allies?

We shoot down in the lift alone in complete silence. Somehow, after spending the morning with Morgan I am more determined to get out. All these feelings Morgan is getting out of me…..how does he do it? Some of these things I haven't felt for years. What is he doing? Is this some bizarre way of gaining my trust to then kill me? If he was a career I wouldn't bother with these doubts. But Morgan….what is going on? I look at him in that brief moment in the lift. He doesn't look like a killer to me. Just a normal boy. How would I know? I only have a lifetime of watching the games as knowledge.

I don't bother shooting a look in lapida's direction, once we arrive in the centre. I don't look at Morgan either. I just train with a new, cold, hard determination.

I start with axes. The District Seven female is here, but that's no surprise. To my great relief I can still chuck an axe pretty well. Thank goodness. I almost believed I would get down here and it would all be an illusion. I wouldn't be able to throw an axe to save my life. But it's fine. I can. And it most probably will save my life. I grin at the District Seven girl as our station becomes a frenzied flurry of axes whizzing towards the targets. She grins back.

"Allies?" she asks, holding out a hand for me to shake. There are no more axes to throw, they all stick out of the targets. This forces me to give an immediate answer. I don't have one.

I think about it for a moment. An ally wouldn't be a bad idea. Especially an ally with super-human axe skills. And I'll bet she has supreme skills in climbing and edible plants, too. She raises her eyebrows, awaiting an answer.

"Really?" I find myself saying.

She nods in answer.

"But I don't even know your name!" I say, stupidly.

"Jasmin Woodland and you're….. blossom jones?" she says "Deal, or no deal? I really don't care if it's a no."

She does, she does, she does, she does, she does, she does.

If I say no I'll end up with one of those sharp looking axes sticking out of me. If not right here, right now, in the arena.

"Deal." I answer, taking her hand in mine and shaking it firmly. "It's a deal."

I slope off to the edible plant station; it's been years since I went foraging for that herb stall. Anyway, knowing what herbs make a good chilli is pretty pointless. What I really need to know is what berries and plants create a nourishing meal and which are home to a deadly poison. I study the booklets for a while. Taking in the spiralling letters and vividly drawn diagrams. The trainer tests me with disappointing results.

Poison, poison, safe, safe, safe, poison, safe, poison, poison, safe, safe. The words muddle themselves in my mind. Is this poisonous of safe to eat? Is this delicious or deadly? Is this venomous or scrumptious?

It's no good, I can only memorise about a quarter of the information. It's not good enough. Out there, if I eat even one incorrect mouthful and I'm dead. Jasmin is probably much better…but can I really trust her? Is she really my ally or an enemy? I just don't know.

As I turn to leave the station I hear the voice of the trainer from behind me; "Just remember, don't eat anything unless you know it's definitely safe."

Good advice, good advice. I nod to her before moving to the knife throwing station.

The girl from eight and the boy from five have slipped over to the station while the trained tributes are chucking tridents. The boy is relatively good, actually. Not like the trained tributes, of course, but good for someone from any other district. The knife hits his target more than half of the time. I can't say much for the girl from eight. Her hand shivers and shakes whenever she grabs a knife. Most of them fall short of the target by a few metres. She's no competitor, that's for sure. A leg she can barely walk on and no combat skills, it's not like she'll become victor. I hate myself for thinking this. I'm almost as bad as the trained tributes. That has to be what they think of us. Useless. Weakling. Doesn't stand a chance. Not a hope in hell. That means it's probably true.

Before selecting a knife I check how my ally is doing. She has moved from axes to bow and arrows. She's not as accurate but she can still get a bull's-eye a fair bit of the time. I watch Morgan, too. He seems to be deep in conversation with the hammock making trainer and the pair from district three. Maybe he's found an alliance too.

When I give knife throwing a go, it turns out I'm not much better than the district eight girl. My hand can barely grip the knife. More often than not the knife slaps to the ground with a disappointing thud. I don't have to look to the sward training station to know Lapida has a huge smirk on her face. She'll have a great time later, mocking me about this.

After an hour I know I won't get any better.

I select fishing as my next station. I know I won't be able to rely on my edible plant skills so perhaps I will be able to catch a meal in the arena. The station includes three pond areas where we are supposed to try and catch fish. Shallow water, deep water and strong current. At first I am given a spear and shoved towards the shallow pool. I jab the water for a while, almost instantly realizing that this will need some skill. Even the tiniest ripple will send the fish darting across to the other side of the pool.

Even once the thrashing waves I have created change to the normal flow I take a long while to stab out at a fish. My shadow falls over the body of water long before the spear does. It takes a few jabs but I get one, in the end. The training instructor shows me the correct way to gut and bone a fish. I'm barely listening. All I can think about is the blood spiralling on the surface of the water. The first of many. Soon I shall be in the arena. The place where blood of the innocent is always flowing. It might have only been a fish but that was the first time I have ever killed. Will the next be a tribute? Will the next be a human being? Or will I be the one that's blood leaks out on the first day?

Get a grip! I tell it to myself over and over. I try to put on a brave face as the trainer teaches me to make myself a spear. In the arena, of course, it's not a guarantee I'll get one. It's not even guaranteed I'll survive long enough to need one. I dawdle along with it as long as I can. Sharpening the shard of stone far more than it's needed, tying it to the stick a dozen times before saying it's done.

Just as the tip of my homemade spear slips under the quiet waves of the pool, the bell for lunch rings out rings out. Shame.

I eat with Jasmin, trying to build up my food storage before the games. We talk about this and that. We can't talk about the past, it's too painful. We can't talk about the present, it's too awful. We can't talk about the future, we don't really have one. That leaves us with very little to talk about.

Nobody else is really talking. The district three tributes are muttering to Morgan. The male tributes of five, eight and nine are chatting together. The twelve year old girl from district five and the girl from eleven are laughing a little. The others all sit in solitary silence. No, most of the sound generates from the crowded trained tribute table. They shout to each other even when they are barely meters away from each other.

We settle for the subject of strengths and weaknesses, after a few false starts. It does bring up painful images of past hunger games but it needs to be done.

"We can both chuck an axe, obviously," Is Jasmin's opener "But what else can you do?"

"Healing," I say, quickly, remembering my talent for it, and then I add "I can climb and sort-of set fires."

Hopefully she doesn't see me as some type of weakling.

"And you?" I say, swallowing a spoonful of soup.

"Bow and arrows. Climbing. Axes." She says "I'm no good at all that survival stuff."

"You never gave it a go." I say, remembering how she slipped over to the survival stations for only a few minutes before charging back to throw some axes.

"Since you can heal and I can shoot prey there's no point." She says with a small shrug.

There comes a brief pause in our conversation.

"Do you think we should get other allies?" I say, drastically trying to get the conversation going again.

"Not Oak, that's the one from my district," she says quickly.

"Why not? He seems pretty strong." Is my response.

"He is but that doesn't excuse the fact that he wants to join up with one, two and four." She says, with venom in her voice. "It's a disgrace, back home. Joining up with them."

I nod; it's like that back in District Twelve. I don't think he stands much chance with them, anyway. Sure, he is strong but they act like he is merely a fly and ignore him.

"What about your partner?" Jasmin asks "Is he attempting to get in the trained tribute pack?"

"Morgan? No." I say "I think he's in an alliance with District Three."

Jasmin pulls a face.

Before I can ask her what she has against District Three a clanging sound alerts us back into the training centre. I don't want to waste a single second of this precious training time. There's not long left. Only what's left of today and a half day tomorrow. I need to make the most of it.

I sprint over to the shelter making station. Since I won't go into the cornucopia at the start, it's not a bad idea. Plus, Jasmin is intent on only training with weaponry; one of us has to know how to survive in the wild. The station is full of branches, giant leafs, rocks and basically anything else that you might find in an arena. I start building a den using the huge branches as walls and the huge leafs as a roof. Useless, dangerous, even, if in a storm. But if it was just a bit of light wind and rain, it might work out. Not that a simple rainstorm is the norm in the hunger games. Its lightning, tsunamis, tornados, floods, exploding volcanos, acid rain. To all, this den would be useless. I suppose Jasmin and I will just kip in trees anyway.

"Hey, blossom, want to join our alliance?" Morgan's voice calls from behind me.

I swivel round to view him and the two from District Three. They are building a strange, complicated-looking shelter using ropes woven out of vine and flexible branches. Even the specialist trainer looks a little bewildered.

I'm about to say yes. Make our alliance really powerful. With the brains of district three and power of district seven we should have a huge chance. Then I remember Jasmin's face when I mentioned Morgan's possible alliance with Lunar and Hydro. Disgust? Dislike? Hatred? Fear? Perhaps all of them together?

"I'm in an alliance with Jasmin, the District Seven girl already." I try to sound apologetic.

"Oh. Okay," Morgan says "Well, she's welcome to join, too." He doesn't sound like Jasmins welcome at all. "Right guys?" he turns to his alliance. Although I can barely tell what they are mumbling, I know they don't like the idea.

"No, you're okay." I say, waving off his invitation with a hand.

I stroll towards Jasmin who is at the archery station. Getting better and better and better and better. Not as good as she is with an axe but still amazing.

Watch her shoot for a few moments before turning to the water finding station. I just don't have the guts to ask her about District Three. I just don't know her well enough. I just don't have the courage.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Snares, tridents, knot tying, camouflage. I pick up a few valuable skills from each but show no extreme talent. No matter what I'm doing I keep wondering about Jasmin and District Three. I'm in my room when I realize I have to demand an answer. But how? How do I ask Jasmin? I know barely anything about her; only her name, her skills and her feeling of district pride. Not her personality, barely anything. I could have made an alliance with a murderous psychopath. No. I don't know Jasmin but there's something I like about her.

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**A/N This was unplanned. I just wrote and Blossom ended up in an allience.I was going to put her in one, but not with Jasmin and much later. Do you think it works?**


	10. Your Score is

Something….

My eyes snap open. I have no memory of the night before. No nightmares, that's all I know.

Today will be our private sessions with the gamemakers. I'd better impress them. Though, if they've been paying any attention to me at all, nothing I can do now will make a difference. I will be completely ignored if I don't get a score above eight. Whatever I do, it has to be really special. Really special.

But what will I show them? Axes, definitely. Healing, yes, I'm pretty good at that. Climbing? I know I'm average, but it's one of those things I can definitely do. Fire building? Yes, I suppose I could chance it. After two days of training, that's all I can show them. Fantastic. It's not like any of the sponsors would help me, anyway. I mean, I'm sure Lapida would scare off any sponsors in a ten mile radius. At least Jasmin is sure to get a good score. She spent barely any time at the stations she had no skill for. Mostly combat. That's what the trained tributes do, if she doesn't get a good score I'll want to know why.

My eyes dart to the clock to check the time. Its 10:30. Hang on, 10:30? Why did nobody wake me? Thirty minutes of training gone. Yeah, I suppose I expect it from the capitol staff, but Morgan? Is it just too close to the games now? If I'm not an ally, I'm an enemy.

I spin around the room in a mad rush. Tug on the t-shirt that has been laid out, press my hand on the hair detangling button, hurriedly brush my, yank on the trousers and jacket and shove my feet into the trainers. No time for a shower, no time for a proper wash. Mothers pin is missing, but I don't have time to question it. The past won't matter unless I can survive the future.

I'm in the lift in record time.

Once it stops, I shove my way passed wrestling tributes, studying tributes, shelter building tributes and fighting tributes. The axe station. Row upon row upon row of shining, deadly axes. But where's Jasmin?

Archery? No. Sward training? No. Throwing knifes? No. Tridents? No. Spears? No.

My eyes scan all around the combat stations before I see her. I have to rub my eyes to make sure I'm not dreaming. Is that….is that Jasmin at the edible insect station? It is.

"Jasmin?" I say.

"Hi blossom."

"I thought you said this was completely pointless." I say, sitting down as edible insects is one of the few stations I haven't yet visited. It quickly becomes even more confusing than edible plants.

"I did," She responds "But it's my last day, my last chance."

"Fair point."

We become eerily quiet while we both study the books and taking a look at the samples. These are revolting. I hope it won't come to this, in the arena. Maybe I should go into the cornucopia, after all. Jasmin's not much better than I am at this.

The rest of the morning passes in a similar fashion. Jasmin tries a few more survival stations. It turns out she can make pretty good snares and recognises a few of the edible plants. About halfway through we switch back to axes, climbing and other types of combat. I take another few minutes on the healing station; wishing, wishing, wishing that I'd got Cannenta as my mentor all over again.

When the bell rings out, it's like no time has passed. Lunch and then private sessions. My heart starts thumping faster at the thought.

"We need to make a plan." I say, as we nibble on slabs of chocolate cake. "It's no good us acting like the games are months away. It's only a few days."

"Alright," Jasmin agrees "What do you reckon we should do? And if you plan on going in for the fight, I'm leaving this alliance."

"Not all the way in," I assure her, looking towards the trained tributes table. No way do I want to be up against them.

"How far?" she enquires.

"Just to get the alright stuff. A few okay weapons. Backpacks" I say.

"Then we run to the forest," Jasmin continues "if there is one."

There should be one. The wilderness of the forest is popular amongst the capitol citizens.

A call for the District One male interrupts us; he steps past us cockily and into the training centre. He is a monster of the tribute. According to the capitol television Petal keeps forcing us to watch, he is one of the favourites to win. Along with his alliance, of course. Muffled sounds of crashing and the clang of swards colliding leak from the room. A full fifteen minutes later, his district partner is called. She smiles pleasantly but more sounds of the clashing weapons are heard almost exactly after she steps into the room.

District Two.

District Three.

A bright white light escapes through the door, what is Lunar doing?

District Four.

District Five.

District Six.

District Seven.

Jasmin and I hug before she steps into the room.

"Good luck" I shout as she steps into the room. Like that would help. None of us have any luck.

District Eight

I feel sorry for the girl as she limps to the room. Her score won't be good.

District Nine.

District Ten.

District Eleven.

Us. Morgan and I sit, not speaking. His name is called and he steps towards the room.

He turns.

"The alliance is still open." He says.

"It's still a no."

I hear him sigh before he enters the room.

I find myself counting down the minutes. The scary sound of a fall from great height emerges from the room. Then they call my name.

I walk into the room with as much confidence as I can muster. My hand automatically reaches out for an axe.

Calm. Pretend the gamemakers aren't here. Just a regular day….

I send the axe twizzling towards one of the training dummies. Thunk. If that were a person, they'd be dead. I grab another couple of axes, one in each hand. Soon most of the axes are embedded in the targets.

What else? Fire!

I quickly build up a fire. It lights, only by chance. Perhaps luck does exist. I blow the flame, it gets larger and larger.

Healing! How do I show that?

Deep breath. I hold my hand under the flame, trying not to show my pain. Then I sprint, to the healing station. I create the balm that helps to soothe burns. I raise my hand, after covering it with the balm. There's still a burn mark, but it hardly hurts.

I sprint again, to the climbing wall. I'm only quarter way up when I am dismissed.

I'll just have to hope and pray that I have done enough to impress the gamemakers.

That one thought is all I can think as I continue the day. I don't notice any of the food, Petal Pond is not annoying, I even manage to ignore Lapida and her arrogant, snarky looks. She is sure we will fail. I can only pray to God that we won't. Morgan slopes around in a similar fashion, barely saying a word to anyone.

Then its time. The moment we have been both waiting for and dreading. This is the time they show our training scores live on television. People back home will find out if we stand a chance, the sponsors will know if it's worth sponsoring us. No wonder we are so nervous.

They start with district one, as usual, showing an image and a training score. They score high, as expected, those from the trained tribute districts. None of them scored below eight. When it gets to District Three, Morgan sits up straight, clearly wondering what his allies get. Hydro receives a disappointing, but expected four. Lunar, surprisingly, manages a nine. Which leads to the question, what was that light? A hypnotism ray?

The boy from five gets a seven. Well done to him. His knife throwing skills deserve it. Six don't get good scores. Then it's onto Jasmin. They flash the number nine up onto the screen. I pump my fist in the air, at least she matched Lunar. Her partner gets a ten. The girl from eight receives a zero. Nine get average scores. The tall redhead from ten gets an eight. Eleven, again, are average.

Morgan's smiling face fills the screen.

"And Morgan Jenson, of District Twelve scores…." The announcer pauses for tension. I swear the whole group has become totally silent, not even breathing. "A score of….Seven."

Morgan looks pleased with himself. Well, he should do. Seven is a good score. For one of us. I turn back to face the television, my face is now on the screen. I barely hear the words that the man says. I just see the number eight below my name.

* * *

**A/N Just in case you wanted to know all of the training scores, here they are.**

**District 1 male 10**

**District 1 female 10**

**District 2 male 8**

**District 2 female 9**

**Hydro 4**

**Lunar 9**

**District 4 male 9**

**District 4 female 10**

**District 5 male 7**

**District 5 female 5**

**District 6 male 4**

**District 6 female 6**

**Oak 10**

**Jasmin 9**

**District 8 male 3**

**District 8 female 0**

**District 9 male 5**

**District 9 female 4**

**District 10 male 3**

**District 10 female 8**

**District 11 male 6**

**District 11 female 6**

**Morgan Jenson 7**

**Blossom Jones 8**


	11. The real me

The wonderful warm feeling of hope fills my body. It runs through my veins; into my bloodstream. I got an eight! An eight! Okay, so it's not an incredibly high score and certainly not the highest, but its right up at trained tribute standard. What will they be thinking, back home? Are they filled with the same wonderful feeling of hope that I am? Do they think that I can make it? And what about Morgan, he got a seven; do they think he can make it? Or are they too busy worrying about our high-scoring competitors? District one, District Two, Lunar, District Four, The boy from five, Jasmin, Oak, the District Ten girl. They all scored well. The first year is a well scoring quell, that can only mean danger for us that are participating.

The tingle of hope is still there, shining, when I awake.

It darkens a little when I realize the games are only a couple of days away. Even more when I realize I have to impress the crowd tomorrow in a formal interview. That won't work, especially with Lapida 'helping' me.

But the hope is still there, still inside me. Like a candle, shining in the darkness. It must be inside everyone, back home. Burning on until my time comes.

I take as long as possible, so different from yesterday. I drag my feet towards the shower room and take a long refreshing shower. Washing my hair three times before stepping out. I brush my teeth in small, slow circles. The capitol technology takes care of drying my body and brushing my hair. I slowly pull on the casual-looking trousers and pull on the shirt. Thanks to the capitol technology, I'm done in almost no time. But I can't prolong this moment forever. If I could, I would still be living in the heaven that was my family's lives. I wouldn't be here. I would have the certainty of a long life. I would never set foot in the arena. It's no use thinking of things that are an impossibility; it just depresses me that they are only that, an impossibility.

I clatter down the hallway, wanting to prolong this day, but knowing it is sure to be hellish. And possibly one of my last.

"You took your time," Lapida remarks, I'm barely in the room, for goodness sake. "You were late for training yesterday, too." The smile that plays on her lips is pure evil.

I shrug, "So? I still got an eight, didn't I?"

I slump down into the remaining chair. Right next to Petal. Oh, well, I'll just be concentrating on the food. Warm chocolaty muffins, slices of orange, a bowl of grain mixed with cherries and berries and slices of fruit. That doesn't stop her from jabbering on about nothing in particular. On and on and on…

"So what is today actually about?" Morgan saves us from her.

"Training, for the interviews," A woman that I have never seen before cuts in, before Petal can bore us to death with an extended answer. I have to admit, I didn't notice her as I entered the room.

"Petal will be training you in the right manners, Lapida with the content and we shall be working on your costumes." Demetria, my stylist, adds. I have to admit, I hardly noticed her either.

"One question, "Lapida asks as I swallow the last morsel of food and slurp up my juice, "Do you want to be trained alone, or as a pair?"

I shrug, again, "I really don't mind." I then look towards Morgan "It's up to you."

All eyes in the room turn to Morgan, awaiting his answer. His eyes flitter around, looking us all in the eyes. They seem to hover over Lapida longer than anyone else.

"Alone…..if you really don't…" He manages to stutter out.

"I don't. It's fine." I cut in, slightly harshly, remembering the night we first met Lapida. How Morgan acted towards her. And Lapida to him. Then after, in my room…..

The stylists depart as Lapida starts belting out orders.

"Morgan, you're with me. Blossom, you're with her. We'll swap after lunch."

The way she says it makes her sound just like a peacekeeper. The way she looks spoils the effect.

We act on her orders though, and quickly. Petal bustles me back into my bedroom. Its four hours until lunch. What about manners will take me four hour to learn.

Petal first forces me into a dress, a long floaty one and huge high heels. This, apparently, is not the one I will be wearing for the actual interview. Thank goodness. It makes me look like a giant puffy meringue.

"Now, let's see if you can overcome the barbarism of District Twelve!" She shrieks.

"Barbarism?" I say, almost immediately clapping my hand over my mouth, as if to stop it. She spends her time watching children being killed on live television. And she calls me barbaric?

I am trained on walking, at first. Yes, walking. It should be easy, right? It's really not. I wobble around on the ridiculous shoes for what seems like hours, tripping over a thousand times and giving myself a nasty bruise on the ankle.

"We women have to suffer to look beautiful!" Is her remark to my pain, still, I should get used to it. The arena is home to every meaning of the word.

In theory, it can only be minutes that I suffer through this new way of walking. I hope she'll let me off, but I'm out of luck. Petal trains me in the correct way of talking, how to achieve the perfect smile and how to behave at an interview. How to sit, how to laugh, how to talk, how to walk, how to act. It looks like they don't want me to be me at the interview. By lunchtime we are both exhausted.

I pile my plate high with food, as this will be one of my last meals before I enter the arena. Lapida and Morgan seem to be in pretty high spirits, so perhaps this afternoon will be better. More likely to be worse, though, since Lapida is involved. Still, she seems to be in a good mood.

We sit either side of the glass table, just looking at each other. She takes in my posture and messy hair; I take in her over made-up face and glowing skin. The sounds of Petal screeching stream through the walls. It looks like Morgan isn't doing too well. My eyes don't move from her, though. This, clearly, was not what she and Morgan were doing. How would this make them over cheery?

"What's the point of this?" I ask, completely bemused.

"I'm racking my brains for an angle you could play in the interviews." She says, "I can't seem to think of one…I wonder why."

We continue looking, and then she speaks again:

"Sexy, powerful, nice, arrogant, sweet, innocent, monstrous, sly, ruthless, smart, " she counts the angles off on her fingers "I don't think you can pull any of those off."

"Neither do I, "I find myself agreeing with her "I suppose I'll wing it, then."

I stand, my back to her, trying to exit the room.

"This interview is everything, you can't wing it." She says.

"What else am I supposed to do?" I point out "We just agreed that I can't pull off any of those angles."

"Look, we just need to think." The person in front of me is no longer Lapida. She seems milder, kinder, and almost sweet. That's the one reason I join her back at the table "You do want to win, right?"

I nod, determined "Yeah."

"And you need to impress these people to do that, right. You can't just be…you." Lapida explains.

"True…" I mutter.

Four hours later, we still have nothing. None of the angles we can think of work. I can't become one of these people for the crowd. So I'll just have to be myself, drastically hoping the crowd don't hate me for it. I'll have to wing it.

There is a good side to this, of course. I won't go into the arena with everyone thinking I'm something else. I have the weight of District Twelve thinking I can win on my shoulders, already. Do I really want the possible disappointment of the capitol hanging over me? How can I appear in a certain way if I'm fighting for my life in the arena? I have been myself the whole way through, and I intend to continue like this, until the end. Okay, so I might hide my tears, but who wouldn't? It's a long jump from showing a version of me that's beastly, or sly, or sexy. From now on, they get the real me.


	12. Time to shine

My arms ache, my legs are numb. I've been stretched out in the same position for hours, now, only moving when the prep team instructs me to. The worst bit is I can't see what they are doing to me. I know I have a thick layer of makeup smeared all over my face. I know my skin has been sprayed a silvery-blue colour. That's about all I know. I have no idea what kind of costume I will be wearing. No clue what I look like. To be completely honest, it's pretty scary. I feel like a clown. I feel like a capitol citizen. That's probably the point. Although I have to act like myself, I will look completely different. One of them.

They allow me to stand on my shaky legs as Demetria clatters into the room.

"Fabulous work, team," Demetria says "Fabulous work!" She is holding a large black garment bag that must hold tonight's outfit. This dress has to be brilliant. It has to make a good impression. This is even more important than the opening ceremonies.

Demetria shoos out the team and takes out the dress.

I have to admit, it's gorgeous. It's a strapless dress, silver in colour. Made out of thousands of tiny diamonds. I'm going to sparkle, I'm going to shine. If only I can say the right think I'll wow the crowd. Get some sponsors.

Once the dress is on I know this could be true. They actually haven't done a bad job. The dress falls to just above the knees and sparkles, sending rays of light twirling about the room. My skin is a silvery-blue, and sparkles almost as much as the dress does. There is not as much makeup on my face as I had thought. Just a little highlighting here and there. My feet slip into ballet pumps that are the same silver as the dress. My hair is arranged in curls with a large silver bow on one side. The bow is sprinkled with more of the tiny diamonds. To Finnish, mothers golden pin is pinned to my front.

I'm ready to wow the crowd.

Less ready, perhaps, once we have paraded onto the stage and are sitting in an ark around Quintus flickerman the hunger games interviewer. The interviews are actually yet to start but my hands have already grown sweaty and my heart thumping inside my chest like a drumbeat. I try to concentrate on his chatter but only really hear his shout of:

"Welcome to the stage…Divine Goldheart!"

And the yelling and cheering of the crowd.

The District One female. Always popular. To my total shock, Divine is not acting like a district one tribute. Sure, she looks like one; shimmering golden hair, gorgeously tanned skin, baby-blue eyes. But her act is not. Normally they go for the sexy act. The capitol eats this up but it's pretty sickening to us districts.

Divine is not a sexy, seductive ditz like most other district one females I have seen. She's smart. Not the nervous, quick talking smart that most tributes from three and five show. Smart but powerful. Dangerous and deadly. I think they chose her as the leader of the trained tributes.

Her partner is the District One stereotype. Sure, he can wield a sword and chuck an axe but he's not exactly the smartest. And he is incredibly arrogant. Both could be counted as weaknesses. I'm yet to think of one for his partner. Divine is too smart to have one of the usual trained tribute weaknesses. I bet she won't play by their rules either.

The girl; from district two is pure evil. Her malicious green eyes keep swivelling around at us tributes like she's selecting her first victims. She's smart, but only average District Two smart, nothing like the girl from one. Still, I bet quite a few will bet on her. Barely any will bet on me, hardly anyone roots for an underdog.

The male from her district, the one with huge bulging muscles, is less casual about who he will kill. He just tells Quintus outright who he plans on killing. He points out the girl from eight and the boy from five amongst others. Kill a crippled girl….that's just monstrous. Somehow the girl from two is more threatening with her evil glances. Like there is some kind of method not just kill, kill, kill.

Lunar and Hydro come out as smart like the rest of district three

My mind becomes blank; I am unable to focus on anything for minutes. I miss Jasmin's interview, the girl from eight. I just have the vague feeling that nobody is making any big impressions. It's like I'm unconscious until my name is called and I take shaky steps towards the centre.

Quintus welcomes me and complements me as I feel the lights and cameras all point towards me.

I'm ashamed to say in the heat of the lights and pressure of the camera I just stammer out a "T-thank you" Then immediately start racking my brains for something else to add. I've got nothing.

But that's okay; Quintus is already onto the first question.

"So what has been your favourite thing about the capitol since arriving?" He asks, starting with a simple one. Then he adds, quickly "And don't say 'the food' that statement is overused."

I smile, "That's no surprise, the food here is just…amazing. Back home, I'm not rich enough to eat like this." I pause before adding "And the gadgets are pretty cool too. I spent hours pushing random buttons on my first evening."

He laughs slightly at my childishness "Shall we think back, then? Back to home?"

"If we must." I reply shortly.

"So…..what were you thinking? When they read out your name at the reapening?" He asks.

I think back. It was almost a week ago but it feels like months. "Not too surprised, really. I'm an orphan so loads picked my name thinking nobody would care."

"And did anybody care? Did anybody come say goodbye to you?" He asks, smiling pitifully.

"Yes, this couple I know. Maggie and Peter. My second parents, that's what they were like to me." I say "And Lacey. She's like a sister." So that's stretching the truth a little but, so what?

We fast-forward in time to the training scores.

"All I can say is I didn't expect it." That's what I tell him and the crowd.

When he asks me for my biggest strength in the arena will be, I have to think about it. Most things sound arrogant so I end up with:

"That's a secret. All I can say is don't underestimate me."

"We won't, I promise."

When the bell to indicate my time is up Quintus takes my hand and leads me right to the front of the stage. I take my bow and smile to the crowd. They cheer for me although they are bored of the interviews by now.

Feeling so much more chilled out than when I first came out, I slip back into my chair. I pass Morgan on my way, throwing a smile of reassurance his way. He doesn't smile back. He ignores it, distracted by something else, though I can't work out what.

The interview starts like any other one, regular banter and normal questions. Nothing special.

"So, are you fighting for any loved ones back home?" Quintus asks, at one point.

"My brother." Morgan says before explaining "He died in the arena two years ago. I'm fighting so I can triumph where he failed. I want to avenge him."

This gets a big reaction from the crowd.

"And anyone else back home?" he asks Morgan.

"My mother, my father." He says

"And a girlfriend? You must have a girlfriend!" Quintus says, smiling, awaiting an answer.

He smiles, his cheeks blushing slightly, I find mine doing the same.

"Yes. I do. We haven't been together long. Not many people know. She won't like me saying this, on live television, though." He pauses for a moment, as if in thought, or plucking up courage to say or do something, "Her name is Callie Everdeen."

The smile that has formed on my face is suddenly switched to a frown. I hope nobody saw.

"What in God's name was that?" I yell at him, the second we are back on our floor "I thought you loved me. I thought we were in love. And it turns out you are with somebody else!"

He makes no attempt to excuse what he did. He doesn't even give a reason. He just mutters the words "I'm sorry." Before exiting the room. I think there are tears in his eyes.

"Coward," I mutter as his figure disappears into his bedroom. Yet I make no attempt to go after him. I just turn down the corridor to my own bedroom. Now is not the time. But I will get the truth out of him before it is too late.


	13. Last night, last morning

I don't bother with sleep. I know tonight, of all nights, it will be impossible. I take the short trek to the one place I feel at home. The one place I feel myself. Although the capitol have taken the happiness of the past, have limited my present and hold any hopes of my future in an unreachable place, I can find one moment of tranquillity. I feel free.

"You can't sleep either?" The voice travels across the roof to where I am sitting, right near the edge. Something, and I'm not sure what, prevents me from throwing myself over it. Save them from killing me. End all the pain and suffering. It's impossible; I'm as much a coward as Morgan.

"Something like that," I reply, barely looking up. My eyes are trained on the bustling streets below. It must be past midnight but they keep on partying. This city never sleeps. I can't; they won't. As my eyes fill with tears the lights blur into smudges of colour. Everything reminds me of death.

"You should get some sleep, you know," Morgan says, his voice only just audible over the shouts of joy from the streets below. I swipe away the tears with the sleeve of my jumper, thinking.

"I know. I…..I just…." I pause, working out in my head what it is I want to say. "I just wanted to see one last beautiful thing before…." My voice breaks off again. I can't say it. I just can't say it. I can't accept my fate. I can't admit my death is just around the corner. Not out loud, not to him.

"You are not going to die," He says, surprisingly, "You can use a weapon. You can fight." Then his tone changes. Calmer. Quieter. "You can win."

"You must be mistaking me for someone else," I say, "Callie Everdeen, for instance." He knows now, that I need to know. I need to die with the truth.

"Blossom, I'm sorry," he starts, "Look, you reminded me of Callie, that day. She found out something….it upset her. She ran off, started crying, just like you. I had remembered it so many times it was like a dream. It was like Callie all over again."

I look at him. That's his explanation. Is that the truth? Is he hiding something? How could he lie at a time like this? Then I look away.

We are silent for a long while before I hear footsteps retreating back down the stairs.

My thoughts stray from Morgan and Callie and home. They wander to the future. What kind of arena will they dump me in tomorrow? Swamp? Tundra? Woods? Rainforest? Desert? All have been used in previous games, all of those and a whole lot more. My mind conjures up all sorts of depressing and disturbing images from previous games. This is the quell. It won't be like any regular year. That means the gamemakers will have thought up a whole new world of horrors for us to face. That's why I'm so afraid.

I watch the sun rise above the clouds, alone.

It's barely six when the sky swirls above my head. Hovercraft. My transportation to the arena has arrived. Demetria is next to me, almost at once. She leads me to the correct craft, since they seems to be more than one.

Once aboard, a woman in mint green surgical gloves, goggles and a white lab coat approaches me. She is clasping a large, scary-looking syringe in her hand.

She must see the look of total panic on my face, so she speaks a few supposedly calming words. In theory she sounds more nervous than I feel. All she has to do is give an injection. I'm headed into a death game.

"Don't worry; this is just your tracker. It'll only hurt a little."

After she sinks the tip into my forearm I decide it hurts a lot more than a little.

They offer me a huge banquet of food, all my favourites since I arrived here. A last meal. I don't eat a morsel, afraid that I will vomit at the start of the games. Instead I run through the possible arenas and take small sips water. Neither calms me. Nothing will, I don't see why I try.

The ride only lasts around half an hour. I know we are nearing the arena when we are given pitch black darkness outside.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

My heart thumps so hard in my chest I almost believe they can all hear it. They can all smell my fear.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

Demetria leads me into and through a criss-crossed maze of catacombs.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

We arrive in the launch room. The stockyard.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

I am given my uniform for the arena. Simple undergarments. Pale brown trousers. Green shirt. Dark brown combat jacket. Hunting boots.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

I dress in fearful silence.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

A pleasant happy-sounding female voice announces that launch time is here.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

I take tentative steps towards the cylinder that will raise me into the arena.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

I'm inside, trapped.

I swivel around, staring at Demetria.

She nods, flashes a smile. It's a Cheshire cat grin. Creepy. Evil.

My hand slams down on the glass, yelling for help.

Ican'tdothis. Ican'tdothis. Ican'tdothis.

I'm overcome by fear.

Ineedtogetout. Ineedtogetout. Ineedtogetout.

She says something that I can't hear. Smiles her Cheshire cat grin. Waves. What a fantastic goodbye.

Then I'm rising. Into the arena. To death.

A bright, white, almost- blinding light that I suppose is the sun is the first thing I see in this place. Don't show the fear, they know fear. You are not afraid.

But I am, and they all know it.

* * *

**A/N: So, how was it? I will try to get the next bit out quickly but I dont have it yet. I hate is when authors pause right at that moment. Sorry! Still, I do have the main idea so it could be soon. Some people say i'm posting this far too quickly. I post as I write so I dont get confused. And i'm writing quickly so I wont get all pressured to post fanfiction and revise for tests.**


	14. Let the games begin!

Okay, change of plan, who cares if they know I'm scared out of your wits?

"Ladies and gentlemen let the twenty-fifth annual hunger games begin!" The voice of our announcer booms across the arena. The countdown begins.

Sixty seconds and I could be dead.

60, 59, 58, 57, 56

I take in the arena. The cornucopia is right in the centre, the best things in the mouth of it, assuring a fight. We tributes form a circle around it.

55, 54, 53, 52, 51

The rest of the arena seems rather symmetrical. Houses crafted out of mud and straw circling us, fields surrounding those, in the far distance a forest.

50, 49, 48, 47, 46

Jasmin is a few tributes down from me. Our eyes meet for a moment then she motions for us to run to the back. To the forest.

45, 44, 43, 42, 41

My eyes switch to scan the ground in front of me. We won't get far without supplies, will we? There's an axe right in the mouth of the cornucopia that I'm tempted to run in and get but I promised Jasmin I wouldn't.

30, 39, 38, 37, 36

A knife, just a metre in front of my platform. That'll do. A backpack that could contain anything slightly further.

35, 34, 33, 32, 31

Jasmin makes similar choices.

30, 29, 28, 27, 26

I take in the rest of the tributes. Some determined, some fearful. Most of them will die today.

25, 24, 23, 22, 21

One last look around. This could be the last place I see. I could be one of the first casualties.

20, 19, 18, 17, 16

Adrenaline pumps through my veins, my heart bouncing inside my chest

15, 14, 13, 12, 11

I'm going to have to run for my life, literary.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6

Deep breath. My eyes glued to my choices.

5

4

3

2

1

The gong chimes out, releasing us from the frozen positions we stand in.

I leap from mine and take a few rushed steps to grab the knife and hook the backpack onto my shoulders. Jasmin is a little further in, scooping an axe from the ground. Our competitors are spread far and thin now. The trained tributes grabbing hordes of weapons and supplies. The weaker competitors making a run for it. A few others scavenging around the edges, like us.

She comes out of nowhere, the girl from one.

Sward raised, evil smile.

"Jasmin!" I scream.

A flash of silver blade swirls from somewhere behind, striking the girls hand.

The weapon drops to the ground with a clang.

""Run!" I hear from somewhere, someone.

Who said it, I don't know. But I obey, and so does Jasmin.

We sprint across the baked field ground.

I only look back once. There are bodies strewn around the cornucopia, blood leaking into all the cracks of the stoned ground. But all of the trained tributes seem to be focusing on the one tribute. Tearing them limb from limb like a pack of wild dogs. That person saved our lives.

We don't stop running. Even once we are in the depths of the forest we keep going. Not running but always moving. It must be hours later when we stop, thirsty and overcome with fatigue. It's also to listen to the sound of cannon. About now, watching at home the hunger games announcer will be saying 'Ah, the cannon, that familiar sound of another fallen tribute,' He does every year.

Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom.

"Ten," I say "Ten dead in one day."

Normally there are a few more, but because I knew some of them, spoke to some of them it seems like a whole lot more are dead.

"I wonder if our partners made it," Jasmin says in a tone far too cheerful for someone talking about death.

I wonder….could that person who saved us be one of our partners? Oak? Morgan?

I still have the pack over my shoulders and the knife in my hand, I'm not much of a shot but it's better than nothing. Miraculously, Jasmin still has a white knuckled grip on the axe.

"Let's climb a tree, it'll be safer rather than on the ground." Jasmin suggests and climbs up one with large branches before I can respond. I climb after, knowing that we'll be able to see the predators before they see us up in a tree. I struggle a little, climbing the tree, but soon we sit side by side on a thick branch, the pack settled between us.

Jasmin carefully unzips the bag and takes the items out one by one. I hold the axe in an iron grip, my eye out for predators both animal and human.

It's clear we are the only tributes in this part of the wood.

I look at the pile of spoils, pretty happy that I chose to grab that particular bag. Luck, some might say. Fate.

A thermal blanket. A box of matches. A flask half-full with water. A second knife. A short length of rope. Two little packs of meat. A miniature torch.

We both take a swig of water before we realize it's going to have to last us a while. It could be days before we can find a clean source of water. There could not be one.

Why did I grab a half empty water bottle?

Neither of us wants to risk tramping around the forest tonight. The trained tributes are normally at their strongest on the first couple of days. They don't gain many injuries at the cornucopia, just weapons, food and other supplies.

We are just about arranged – Jasmin under the blanket, me leaning up against the trunk with the axe in my hands and pack on one shoulder because I offered to take the first watch – when the anthem starts.

Okay, deep breath, prepare yourself. This could be painful

The first face to appear is Hydro, the boy from three. So the trained tributes from one and two survived? That's no surprise. Four have made it, too because the next face they show is the girl from six, closely followed by her district partner. The girl from eight. I knew that was coming. A feeling I don't understand fills me. I never knew her, never even spoke to her. The pair from nine appears next. Both from ten. That was unexpected. Not the boy; I barely noticed him. The girl was strong, though, skilled in various weapons. That's probably why they killed her. They boy from eleven.

Morgan.

I realize before his grinning face fills the screen. Morgan is dead.

Morgan is dead.

I spoke to him only last night but now he's gone. Packed into a simple wooden box. Dead. No longer here. Gone.

A single tear slips down my face; I feel a hand squeeze mine.

"Maybe its better he's out now," Jasmin says comfortingly, taking the axe from my other hand "I mean, he won't suffer. And we won't have to fight him."

I blink the tears away, ashamed. Twenty or more cameras could have caught that moment.

Jasmin forces me to sleep at first, and I don't argue. After finding out about Morgan, all I want to do is find a private moment so I can say goodbye to him. And cry.

I bury my head into the blanket, silently saying goodbye to Morgan, remembering him for that short time I knew him. In the darkness, just before I slip into slumber, I hear Jasmin mutter:

"I bet it was that girl from three,"


	15. Unimportant

Boom!

I jolt up and almost fall form the tree.

It's already a brand new day. I slept through the whole night. The sun is shining, the birds are singing. This place would be beautiful if I wasn't here to die. And someone has died this blissful morning.

"Wonder who that could be," I mutter to myself.

"I guess it could be any of the others," Jasmin mutters from a few branches above, "But we should move. We'd be dead if they found us up here."

I quickly stuff the rest of the supplies into my backpack and clamber down the tree. Jasmin follows like a squirrel. We then choose a random direction and start hiking. Today we search for water.

We take small mouthfuls of the meat, as we walk but we don't try drinking as our supply is so small. We hike on, the first stages of dehydration making each step torment. Our supplies are dwindling; it was only a quarter full when we started out.

"Maybe they is no water," I suggest at about midday. One of the packs is half empty and we still haven't taken a sip of water.

"There has to be." Jasmin says shortly, refusing to take more than a tiny sip when I bring the flask out. I take about the same, hoping, praying that we will find a supply soon.

Its sunset when we find it, a big stone well, right in the middle of the forest. Odd, I grant you, but I'm too thirsty to question it.

The anthem starts and I turn to face the sky while Jasmin focuses on winding up the bucket.

"Jasmin," I say "You need to look over here,"

"What?" she says irritably, not even looking.

"Just look at the sky."

She turns and her face crumples, slightly, just for a moment. Then she shrugs her shoulders.

"He had to die sometime,"

Oak is dead, and she doesn't care. She just goes back to winding up the handle. But my confusion is nothing to the thirst. I spin just as she lifts the old-looking wooden bucket.

I'm just about to take a mouthful when a twig snaps behind me.

My frame freezes. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. A shiver rolls down my spine.

Have the trained tributes found us?

"I wouldn't go doing that if I were you," A voice shouts from behind us.

I exhale, calmer than before. That's not the shout of an angry trained tribute, that's the yell of a frightened little twelve year old girl. But why would a little girl stop us from drinking?

I spin to face her, the axe raised.

"No!" she shouts "Please! Don't!"


	16. Untrusting

I lower my axe slightly, she is alone?

"You're alone?" I whisper, peering into the dark forest as best I can in this light.

"Yes." She whimpers the word out, like she thinks I might still kill her.

I lower the axe fully. There is no danger.

"Why'd you try stop us drinking?" Jasmin asks, her eyes narrowed and untrusting.

"Poison. That's not water, that's cyanide." The small girl whispers.

Jasmin snorts. "Cyanide? Really?"

Then she lifts the bucket to take a big swig. Just coming to her lips when I catch it. The strong nutty scent of almond. _Cyanide smells like almond!_

My body reacts before my mind. A fist swings out to swipe the bucket away. The poison splashes everywhere.

"Blossom?" Jasmin glairs at me, angered but alive "Come on! You seriously think that was poison?"

"That _is_ poison."

"Why would she tell us that poison was poison?" Jasmin asked

"I don't know." I say "But she did."

We both look at the little girl, our eyes demanding an explanation. She's not big or strong or tall. And we must be big competitors for her. Why not let us die? There would be more chance of her going home. Unless she thinks we'll kill the trained tributes. Like that's going to happen.

"My sister died of poisoning," she explains "I couldn't let someone else die that way."

Although small she has obviously had something to eat, something to drink.

"Where's your supply?" I ask. She must have one, as the only thing she has is a small pocket-knife.

"Back at camp. With my ally." She says.

"Where's that?" I ask.

"Just to the-"

"Take us there." I interrupt. She won't refuse. We are stronger than her and have weapons. The only thing she has on us is she just saved our lives.

"Okay," she seems unsure but, as I suspected, she doesn't refuse.

We step into the woods, the girl from five and I. Strangely, Jasmin makes no movement to follow.

"Come on Jasmin," I call

"Who is your ally?" Jasmin still is untrusting of this girl. She thinks this poor little twelve year old is leading us into a death trap with the trained tributes.

"Amber Gailey" She says "The girl from eleven."

We turn to move on but Jasmin is still suspicious.

"That's it?" She asks

"Yes."

I trust her word, why won't Jasmin?

"There is nobody else?"

"That's right. It's just Amber and me." The girl says in a bemused way.

"Not even district three?"

"I said it's just Amber and me."

Finally, Jasmin decides that this girl meant us no harm. We continue towards her base camp. Her last question sticks with me, though. 'Not even district three,' that's what she said. And she said something last night, too, what was it? 'I bet it was that girl from three'? Something like that.

I have heard that seven and three don't get on. That District seven believes three are pompous and overly-smart. That District Three think seven are another trained tribute district and love the capitol. But not this. Not this whole untrusting bitter hatred of each other.

I promise myself that I will ask her about this since I never had the chance in the capitol.

We reach another clearing in only half an hour. The girl from five pauses sings a small four note tune.

We see her ally, keeping watch, a bow with an arrow loaded clutched lazily in her hands. Her eyes rise as the tune reaches her ears.

We see the lake, full of fresh, clean water. A couple of large packs strewn across the ground.

How did they manage to get this little lot?

"Sparrow?" We hear Amber call.

"Yes, it's me." The girl from five replies "And the girls from seven and twelve. Don't shoot."

We reveal ourselves to her. The girl from eleven.

"Take a seat." She motions for us to sit down on one of the large fallen branches they have arranged to look like seats. The remains of a fire charred in the centre. Jasmin and I sit across from them. As untrusting as the first moment we met sparrow. They don't look like trust us at all, either. The bow and arrow isn't exactly pointed at us, but it's poised and ready to attack. They think we will kill them. They could kill us. But they don't owe us anything. Sparrow saved us with that poison not the other way round.

"How'd you get all this?" I wave my hand towards the backpacks. It's a drastic attempt to lighten the atmosphere. Plus, I'm curious.

"We waited until the trained tributes cleared off then grabbed what we could." Amber explains. But her voice is flat and untrusting.

I frown a little. How did they find this place before us?

Have we been moving at the pace of slow worms? Have we travelled round in a big circle? Are they lying?

As the conversation continues, so do our bonds. Our slightly uncertain friendship. So their story might not completely add up but so what? I trust them. I like them. And in the early stages of the game I wouldn't mind making our alliance a bit bigger. Amber lets her bow fall to the ground. She trusts us too. Sparrow has a smile on her face, as Jasmin says something. Jasmin herself isn't smiling, but her expression is natural. Not surly, not depressed, not sly, not untrusting.

"How about we join up? Become allies?" I say.

It's the crashing sound of footsteps nearing that stops us from agreeing. From becoming a bigger more powerful alliance.

"Quick!" Amber hisses "Follow me!"

She and Sparrow grab their packs; Jasmin has ours over her shoulders. They retrieve the bow and arrows from the ground. I've got the axe.

Amber makes us slip into the undergrowth to hide.

Then I find myself falling, falling, falling. The axe clutched in my hand, ready to attack. Only I don't know who I can trust anymore.

The answer could be simple: no one.


End file.
